


Snow Rose

by SupernaturalMystery306



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Evil Michael, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale: "The Snow Queen", Kid Castiel, Kid Dean, Kid Fic, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalMystery306/pseuds/SupernaturalMystery306
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>On Castiel's roof grew roses that had been there for decades. They were predominantly red, interspersed with white and baby pink, and the eight-year-old boy's favorite were the white ones.</i><br/>"They're like your soul, Dean," he'd say to his friend, and the other boy would blush and say, "You're not supposed to say these things, Castiel!"</p><p> </p><p>A retelling of the (only somewhat, unfortunately) popular fairy tale The Snow Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reaperlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlove/gifts).



> Gifting this to [reaperlove](http://reaperlove77.tumblr.com) because oh god, DUDE. You're so goddamn nice and you've gifted me such adorable stuff and I HAD to do this lol. Jokes aside, you're a great person, and this is only 1% of what you deserve. :)

Once upon a time, in a far away place, a long, long time ago, there lived two boys called Castiel and Dean. They were neighbours, and every day, they used to meet at the little ledge that protruded from Dean's room's outer wall. For hours on end, they'd talk about all sorts of things, from the new candies in Gabriel's Sweet Delights to their village folks.

 

 

On Castiel's roof grew roses that had been there for decades. They were predominantly red, interspersed with white and baby pink, and the eight-year-old boy's favorite were the white ones.

"They're like your soul, Dean," he'd say to his friend, and the other boy would blush and say, "You're not supposed to say these things, Castiel!"

Castiel would tilt his head, confused and a little hurt, and ask him why, to which he'd respond, "I'm not a _girl,_ " with such conviction that Castiel started to believe it-- boys weren't supposed to be associated with the white roses. What other color, then? The only other color that Castiel could think of for Dean was bright green-- like his eyes. But there wasn't any green rose. Pity.

\--

One day, Castiel was admiring the little forget-me-not's that the Harvelles had over their door, when he spied the most beautiful flowers ever.

They grew on the side of the road, and they were absolutely _gorgeous_. The petals curled delicately, flecked with white crystal-like-particles, and Castiel was reminded of snow.

Oh, how he loved the snow. Winter wasn't necessarily the best season, in his opinion, but it was the promise of what would come _after_  it that he loved. Come February, the snow would start thawing every year, and in the early days of March, new flowers would bloom, painting the white world in lovely, vibrant colors. And, well, Dean's birthday was in January too.

It was great.

He stooped down to pick up a few, thinking that he'd gift them to Dean's mother, Mary, when he pricked his finger.

He looked down at it, startled, and noticed a greenish tinge to the tiny cut. He looked closer at the flowers, and noticed a nearly hidden green flower among the white ones. He sighed, wiping his finger against his trousers.

He looked back at the flowers, and--

They were so _ugly_.

He sneered at the flowers, and crushed them under his foot, watching as the petals drooped forlornly. He laughed maliciously as he ran down the street, the destination in his mind some place far, far away.

\--

Castiel's disappearance brought everyone out of the peceful lull their village was always in. They were all suddenly cautious.

They looked for the boy for days, but alas, they couldn't find him. Castiel's mother went into shock, barely functioning, barely speaking. She grew haggard, in a permanent state of sickness, and Mary did everything she could to take care of the other woman.

Eventually, even Naomi Novak lost hope, that her son would ever return. It just became a thought at the back of everyone's mind, about how there used to be a boy named Castiel who got lost.

Everyone forgot about him.

Everyone, except for Dean. And if no one was willing to look for him, Dean would. Dean wanted his friend back. 

And that was how seven-year-old Dean Winchester set out to look for Castiel Novak on a cold November morning.

\--

He travelled far and wide, but he didn't find anyone. He met many interesting creatures, but _no one_ knew where Castiel went. At last, he met an old woman near a stream.

"Hello," he called out tentatively, and stepped back as the woman turned to him and leaned into his space, "can you please tell me if you've seen a black haired boy, about my age, pass by this place?"

"This place?" she asked, "Boy, do you think I live here?" 

Dean nodded slightly, and she cackled, "Of course I don't! I don't live in this dump."

Dean hesitantly asked his next question, "Uh... so where do you live, if you don't mind my asking? And... could you please answer my other question? About the boy?"

She smiled, but it wasn't the welcome smile he was expecting. In a nasally voice, she said, "That boy doesn't live _under the ground_ , child. Which is where I live."

Dean's mouth opened and closed, and he blinked, not knowing what to say. Finally, he found his voice, "Underground?!"

She sighed, and said, "Of course," and rolled her eyes. "Now I wish you luck, Dean Winchester. I hope you succeed in your mission."

Before his eyes, the ground rippled and the snow turned liquid, allowing the woman to sink down. In a blink, the ground closed up again, freezing along with the stream of water that had once been flowing.

Dean gasped. Was _that_ how she lived under the ground? And how did she--

He heard a chuckle, and looked up. A crow was circling the skies, and swooped down to perch on his head. Dean moved his eyes up, not daring to move his head, lest the bird get furious.

"I know what you are thinking, boy. We all know your name. The followers of Michael spread the word."

"Who?"

The crow fluttered its wings frantically, and flew down from Dean's head, coming to float in front of him. "Do you not know?! Michael?! The Poison King?"

"Poison King?" Dean parrotted, and the crow shushed him, darting its eyes left and right.

"Don't take his name unnecessarily, his followers could be anywhere. And, that's what I was talking about! The whole place knows you're looking for your friend."

Dean perked up. So someone must have seen Castiel! "Do you know where I can find him?"

The crow shook its head slightly, its beady eyes blinking, "No, child, I do not. But there's something I _can_  tell you."

Dean's eyes widened, perhaps he'd finally find Castiel! "Yes?" he prompted.

The crow sighed, his wings drooping wearily, and said, "It's too dangerous. I would advise you not to look for him anymore. A child like you-- a _small_ child-- would be nothing in comparison to Michael." At Dean's crestfallen expression, it continued, "But if you really do want to look for him, look for a castle. I don't know if it's true or a myth, but they say that he lives in a huge castle at the other side of the river separating the snow and the vegetation. Well, it's a poor excuse of a vegetation, if I'm being honest. If you want to find your friend, Michael most probably has him there."

Dean nodded, and thanked the crow, ready to leave. But as the crow bid him farewell back, Dean stopped.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, touched a bit that this strange crow had helped him. The bird smiled, and said, "Rufus. Look for me when you get back here." With those words, Rufus the crow flew away into the black night, leaving Dean to walk on.

He shivered, bringing his clothes in tighter around himself. The night had become colder, he felt. And for some reason, he thought that Castiel was nearby.

Very closeby.

\--

It was only about three days later that Dean saw a castle in the early morning, when the sky was painted a dull pink and the sun's rays shone down on the building.

It was on the other side of a river, and Dean realized that this was where Castiel must be. With renewed vigor, he trudged towards the water body. Bending down, he dipped a hand in it to check the temperature, and gasped as he ripped it out. It was freezing cold. He wouldn't be able to cross it!

But looking at the castle, he decided. He _had_ to do it. If for no one, then for Castiel. He was here for _Cas_.

He closed his eyes.

He only belatedly realized that he had no change of clothes, and hence he shouldn't have jumped in with what he was wearing. But he couldn't do anything about it. Freezing, he splashed his way to the other bank, falling down on it exhaustedly, as he shivered, teeth chattering.

He got back up after a few minutes, and walked to the door of the castle. There was no one there, and Dean didn't wait for anyone to appear. Without a plan, he walked inside, relying just on his heart and his hope.

\--

He peeked through one door, and gasped. Castiel was sitting on a throne-like chair, next to an actual throne, and he appeared to be napping. There was no one around, and Dean wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He slipped inside the hall through the door, and looked around, realizing that the ice it was made of was tinged green, just like the rest of the castle. The translucent walls cast a sickly glow everywhere.

"Cas!" Dean shouted across the huge hall, and the snoozing boy raised his head to look for the intruder. He stared at Dean uncomprehendingly, without an ounce of recognition on his face. At length, he opened his mouth, and Dean thought, _this is it, I've finally found him!_

"Michael?" was what came out of the black haired boy's mouth instead. Dean's face crumpled, a little amount of uncertainty marring his features, but he started to speak again.

Before he could say anything, he was spun around as if by invisible hands, and was facing the door he had come into the room from.

A boy-- young man-- stood in the doorway, smirking cruelly. "And who's this, Castiel?" he said as he walked closer to Dean, all the while staring into his eyes.

Dean felt his body temperature fall, and his hands turned cold and clammy. What was happening? Why did Dean suddenly feel like he was standing in snow in a winter night without any woollens? Who was this person?

"I don't know," Castiel replied, and Dean whirled around, uncaring of the danger he was potentially exposing his back to.

"Cas!" Dean said, and motioned with his hand, _let's **go**._

But the other boy didn't say anything. Except, he suddenly started laughing.

"Who the summer is this, Michael?" he chortled, and Dean frowned. So _this_  was Michael? To be fair, he had expected him to look scarier. This person looked barely more than sixteen years old.

Michael grinned back at the little boy, and said, "No one you need to worry about," and Dean saw red. He lunged at Michael, who wasn't expecting the green eyed boy to turn around so quickly, and was able to make the older boy stumble.

Michael cursed, and finally blocked his hits by grabbing both of Dean's hands and restraining them with one of his own. Dean struggled, but he couldn't do anything but watch as greenish mist rose from the ground and vines popped up, binding his legs to the floor. He cried out, thrashing, but they were almost to his chest. Trying to pull them off did nothing but accelerate their path, and pretty soon they would go around his neck and--

"Michael!" Castiel called out, breaking the spell.

The vines abruptly receded, and Michael looked at Castiel questioningly. The young boy smiled wide, and said, "Will you get me some ivies?

Michael nodded, and said, "Keep an eye on this one," and walked out. The moment the door closed, Dean stalked over to Castiel.

"Cas!" he said, trying to get a reaction from the boy that was anything other than _confused disdain_. He wasn't successful though.

The other boy, did, however, not appear that rude now that Michael was not in the room. "Who _are_  you?" he asked curiously, and Dean wanted to cry.

"I'm your best friend, Cas." he said, "You have _got_  to remember me."

Perhaps it was the desperation in his voice, or the expression on his face which gave away how upset he was, but Castiel's tone became gentle when he replied, "I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. I don't even know your name."

"It's Dean," the seven-year-old boy answered hopefully, praying that his friend recognized him.

He had no such luck.

"I'm sorry, Dean." he said this time, and Dean hung his head. He was about to say something when Michael burst into the room.

"So you're conversing with the vagabond, after all?" and sent Dean flying into the wall with a twist of his hand.

It was gentle-- thankfully-- but still painful like a fall from a million feet. Dean staggered as he attempted to get to his feet, but Michael's vines once again shot out, holding him in place.

The older boy kept taunting him, but one sentence particularly stuck out.

"I let him give me white roses, Dean," Michael said gleefully, and Dean's heart hurt more from the reminder than from what Michael was doing to him. He had always brushed off the comments about the white roses reminding Castiel of him. And now-- now Castiel gave them to someone else.

"But I also let you give me the ivies, Michael," Castiel spoke up, and Dean looked at him, pain clear in his eyes. The blue eyed boy didn't look perturbed at all that Michael had his supposed friend cornered and hurt, but then... Dean realized that Castiel was acting. Because Castiel _actually looked in Dean's direction_  when Michael wasn't looking for a second, and he _gestured to the door_ with his eyes!

Dean broke the eye contact, which was enough of an indication that he understood, and then Castiel said, "Michael, where did you get these?" 

It was as if Castiel was the one doing all the enchantments, because Michael turned towards him like a dog turns towards its master, and Dean was released from the hold of the magic.

He didn't wait to see what would happen. He didn't wait for Castiel. He knew there was no use asking him to come home right now. But he knew _how_ to get him back, and he could only do so if he left now. He sprinted towards the door, and ran out as Michael screamed, enraged.

The vines spread out over the ground, but he was too fast, and as Dean ran across the frozen ground outside, tiny flowers shot out of the ground and slowed them down, effectively allowing Dean to move out of the way of the vines.

Unexpectedly, one vine appeared right in front of him, and he barely had time to jump up before it slammed down. When he landed, he realized that he had done so on the vine itself, and for a moment he was scared, that it would wrap around him again. But when it did nothing, he looked down at it properly, and realized that it was oozing a greenish substance, which was seeping into the snow.

He saw a tiny flower, light-green in color, and for reasons unknown and unexplainable, he ripped it off the vine and shoved it into his pocket.

And then he ran, without any further thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I couldn't wait so I put chapter 1 up. I will put up the second one later.
> 
> Pretty please don't comment here. Pity me, I've had a rough week. XP
> 
> Written for [SPN Coldest Hits](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com). Theme was Birthday Fairytale (I GAVE HALF OF IT WOOOOOOO!!!) and my birthday entry is lying somewhere on tumblr omg. Well, I don't consider it an entry, merely a gift sort of thing for all the Hitters hahahah.


End file.
